'It sounds as though the Boche have spotted that British column and are giving it the works.'
Gussy nodded. 'That's about it. I wonder, though, that we haven't seen some of our own aircraft by this time.'
'There's not much hope of that, I'm afraid. Von Ziegler told me that they've secured all the landing-grounds in Norway, so the only support that our troops will get is from the Fleet Air Arm in the neighbourhood of the coast.'
For half an hour they drove on in silence, another German plane droned overhead, then a sudden rat-tat-tat struck their ears. Gregory needed no telling what that meant. It was the sound of machine-guns, and next second a sharp ping-ping-ping of bullets striking on metal came from their immediate rear.
Gregory was still leading the small convoy and they were running along a low stretch of the road which here was only a few feet above the level of the broad river. The mountains rose steeply to his right but to his left there was a shallow ditch and then a belt of pine-trees between the road and the water. Without an instant's hesitation he swung the ambulance round, charged the ditch and bumped violently over the bank into the fringe of the wooded strip, pulling up with a jerk just before his bonnet came into collision with a tree.
'Oh, my arm!' gasped Gussy as the ambulance jolted to a halt.
'You're lucky still to be able to feel it,' muttered Gregory somewhat unsympathetically. 'If I'd stayed on the road another minute we would probably both have been shot through the head.' Scrambling down, he dashed round to the back of the ambulance to see if any of his passengers had been hit.
There was a line of ten neat, round bullet-holes in the roof and seven or eight of the bullets had gone through the body of an old lady who had been admitted to hospital with a broken thigh during the previous week. Blood was still pouring from her on to the occupant of the lower berth but she had died almost instantaneously and neither the nurse, who was riding inside, nor any of the other three passengers were hurt.
Leaving the nurse to cope with one of her charges who had given way to a fit of hysteria, Gregory ran out on to the road. The second ambulance had charged a telegraph-pole. The driver was lying over his wheel with blood pouring from his head, and the doctor, who had staggered out on to the road, fell dead at Gregory's feet; but the third ambulance seemed to have escaped, as it was streaking along the road half a mile away.
The solitary murder-plane had turned and just as Gregory put his hand on the quivering driver's arm it came streaking down again for a second attack on the now dispersed convoy. Dropping to his knees he wriggled underneath the ambulance. With a hellish clatter the machine-gun opened fire and bullets streaked into the roof above his head. There was a loud wailing cry, an awful gurgling shout, then silence as the plane ceased fire and zoomed up again. Gregory felt a warm splash on the back of his neck and knew that it was human blood dripping through the floor-boards.
Crawling out, he got open the door and in one glance took in the shambles that Hitler's disciple had made during his evening's sport. Two of the patients were dead, riddled with bullets, and the young nurse was writhing in agony with half her face shot away.
There was little that he could do for her except to find the doctor's bag and give her an overdose of morphia. She was losing so much blood that he knew she would be dead long before he could get her to any place where her life might have been saved by proper attention, so he had no hesitation in sparing her what pain he could. Having thrust the morphia pellets into her mouth he sat there in a pool of blood on the floor of the ambulance, holding the poor girl's hands until her moans ceased and her remaining eye glazed over.
Gussy and the other nurse had joined him. The driver was now dead. The other ambulance had not come back as the man who drove it was doubtless scared out of his wits and now intent only on getting his own passengers and himself to a place of safety; but Gregory and the nurse, with Gussy's one-handed aid, managed to get the two unwounded patients out on to the roadside. Gregory then went back to his own car. To his fury, he found that it was stuck. Owing to the trees on either side he could not turn it, and the bank over which he had charged was too steep for him to back it up. Having told Gussy how he had ditched himself, he set off at his long loping stride along the road for help.
Three-quarters of a mile further on he found a farmhouse among the trees. The farmer was quietly working in his yard and had probably heard the machine-gunning but known nothing of its object or results. When he saw that Gregory's clothes were soaked with blood he dropped his pitchfork and came out at once on being beckoned from his gate.
The next hour was spent by Gregory and the farmer carrying the remaining five patients along to the farm, where the farmer's wife and daughter busily employed themselves making ready for the reception of the invalids. Fortunately, each stretcher in itself constituted a bed, and the surviving nurse, who had been in Gregory's ambulance, was able to take charge of the patients.
During the whole business they hardly spoke as all of them were filled with a bitter, furious rage, which was utterly beyond expression, at the scene of murder they had witnessed. The farmer's wife provided them with a meal and although Gregory would have liked to push on he felt that now that dusk was falling he and Gussy had better stay where they were for the night; so after they had eaten he went out and fetched two more stretchers as beds for them, leaving the dead bodies of their occupants on the floor of the second ambulance.
During the night there were sounds of distant firing, but how distant was impossible to judge, as the noise of the explosions echoed for miles up the deep valley. There was also the almost constant drone of aeroplanes overhead, but no bombs were dropped in their vicinity.
In the morning Gregory held a consultation with Gussy and they both decided that they could do no good by remaining where they were. The patients had warmth, shelter and food in the farmhouse and the nurse was quite competent to look after them until they could be moved; but the problem which faced the two Englishmen was that of transport.
After breakfast Gregory went out to have a look round the place and he found that in addition to several horses the farmer had a pony and trap, so he suggested that Gussy, who had ample funds, should buy it.
The farmer was loath to sell, and on being pressed, demanded a price that was nearly three times the proper value, but Gussy had no intention of being caught by the Germans if he could possibly help it and during the early hours of the morning the firing had sounded considerably nearer. In consequence, although he was sulky at being rooked, he paid up without further argument, and with Gregory driving they set off towards Ringebu.
On their way they passed further detachments of British troops, but the sight did not cheer them particularly, as there were no heavy tanks in evidence and their numbers were not sufficient to justify any hope that they would be able to hold up the German column. At Ringebu they tried to get a train, but during the hour they waited on the station platform the only two-coach local which passed through, going north, was crammed with British wounded; so after buying enough food to keep them going for twenty-four hours they continued their journey in the pony-cart.
Soon they had more trouble with the Germans' planes, as now that the battle was joined these were in constant evidence attacking British troop-concentrations wherever they could see them. For the German airmen it was a Roman holiday; except for occasional bursts from Bren guns they met with no opposition at all, so they were able to sail up and down in a leisurely fashion machine-gunning anything that took their fancy. Half a dozen times during the morning Gregory halted the trap in the best cover that he could find and lay doggo while fresh flights of Germans went over, and whenever he caught sight of a few khaki figures he was extra cautious. The Germans seemed determined not to give their enemies a moment's rest and, in consequence, the British had been compelled to split up into little groups, which made their way in single file through the trees at the roadside or along the gullies where they could throw themselves flat immediately they were menaced by the Nazis.